


The Wrong Way

by tifaching



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon Hunters, Episode Tag, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Season/Series 10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 17:04:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3418631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tifaching/pseuds/tifaching
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam might have <strike>rubbed</strike> punched some hunters the wrong way when he was looking for Dean.  Tag to 10.4  Paper Moon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wrong Way

The bar’s dark and smoke filled and packed with men wearing denim and flannel. If Sam closes his eyes it could be the Roadhouse, Ellen’s husky voice coming at him from across the bar, Dean over at a table half heartedly flirting with Jo. Sam’s eyes are wide open these days though, so he sees the place as it is, seedy and full of strangers. One thing it does have in common with his old hang out is hunters, a pair of them, drinking whiskey and making plans.

Sam didn’t come here on purpose; it was just somewhere to stop for a minute to recharge- no place he ever would have chosen for a meal if it wasn’t the only watering hole in a hundred miles of scrub brush and sand. Maybe it’s serendipity that he stopped here and maybe it’s fate. It really doesn’t matter, nor does he care. He’s here and they’re here and it’s obvious he wasn’t the only one to see the security footage from the Gas ‘N Sip. He’s going to nip this in the bud before it’s too late.

He orders a shot of tequila and a grilled chicken sandwich with lettuce and tomato because it seems like the least heart attack inducing option available. The bartender takes one look at Sam’s face and pours him a double, leaving the bottle close at hand. Sam gives him a nod and downs the shot. “I’ll be back when the food comes,” he says, then meanders over to the hunters’ table. That they don’t notice him until he clears his throat and butts into their conversation doesn’t bode well for a successful outcome to their planned venture. Sam’s pretty sure that nothing they could possibly do would end in anything but disaster for all involved.

“Leave it alone,” he says, going for friendly menace, but missing friendly by a country mile.

Hands drop in unison to concealed weapons as the men turn to look up at Sam. And up. And up. It takes a second for recognition to flash onto their faces, followed by anger, and, after eyeing his right arm, still useless in its sling, dismissal. The man closest to Sam stands, shorter by a good five inches but broader, especially since, with one thing and another, Sam’s not really at his fighting weight right now. The other man, smaller and thin faced, slouches with one arm across the back of his chair. If there’s not a gun in the hand that’s out of sight under the table, Sam will change his order to a double cheeseburger with bacon and extra mayo and an order of chili fries.

“ _It_?” The hunter’s right in Sam’s grill, so close Sam can smell the whiskey on his breath. Sam doesn’t back up or back down from the challenge in the other man’s eyes. “What _it_ would you be talkin’ about, Winchester?”

“Come on.” Sam hears the iron on wood slide of a shotgun being pulled from beneath the bar, but he doesn’t acknowledge it. “We all know who you’re hunting. Not like you were exactly discreet about discussing your plans.”

“Ain’t no _who_ we’re hunting, it’s a _what_. You and your brother have been begging to get taken out for a long, long time. He’s fair game now and we mean to see the end of him.”

Sam’s not in the mood for games so he doesn’t beat around the bush. “There isn’t a hunter in existence who could take Dean on his worst day. Or their best. And that was before. Now?” Sam laughs and shakes his head. “You two have a death wish or something?”

“We hear Walt and Roy caught you sleeping once and they ain’t exactly the sharpest tools in the shed.” The seated man raises an eyebrow as if he’s just scored a point. “If they can do it, we sure as hell won’t have a problem.”

Sam just grins. “That they did. Once. Those two yahoos shot us dead. And yet…” He spreads his good arm out to the side and shrugs as the fury in the other men’s faces goes up a notch. “As idiotic as they were, they knew they had to take Dean out along with me because the thought of him on their tail for the rest of their lives….”

“Tales grow in the tellin’ Winchester. Your brother wasn’t all that.”

“Yeah, he was.” Sam’s voice drops and any humor vanishes. “And now there’s no conscience there, no humanity to stop him from ripping you to shreds. I seriously doubt that it’s even possible to kill him. You two aren’t much, but you’re human and I don’t want you on his conscience when I get him back.”

“Get him back? That’s your plan?” A thick finger pokes Sam in the chest, its owner oblivious to Sam’s darkening eyes. “Boy, you should be gunning for him just like we are. He’ll take you apart just as quick as he would any of us. Your brother is a damned demon and there ain’t no coming back from that.”

“There is,” Sam says quietly. “And if by some very great chance you, or some other hunter, gets, like, lottery winning lucky and does manage to get the drop on Dean, just know that I will find you. And I will kill you.” He smiles slightly, gaze flicking from one to the other. “I’m a little out of touch with the hunting community right now, so I’d appreciate it if you’d spread the word.”

The two hunters don’t so much as glance at each other but Sam reads their intentions in a heartbeat. He ducks under the right hook of the man in front of him while tipping the table into the gun hand of the seated man. The gun drops to the floor and Sam kicks it toward the bar as his left hand connects with the cheekbone of the man just rising from the chair. A hard punch to the back of his bad shoulder almost sends him to his knees, but he manages to spin and land a glancing blow to the chin of the man behind him. Neither hit was enough to take his opponent out and he backs away as they come at him from opposite directions. He’s about to launch himself at the smaller man, sling be damned, when the bartender steps in front of him, shotgun raised.

“That’s about enough,” he says, and all three men can tell he means business.

“You don’t really want to get involved in this, buddy,” the smaller hunter says. His gun is under the bartender’s foot and he’s not quite dumb enough to make a move for it, though Sam can see he wants to.

“Two against one and the one with only one good arm?” The bartender pulls back the hammer. “Yeah, that’s the kind of thing I tend to get involved in. You all seemed to start it too, talking about his brother that way. Anybody threatened my brother like that I’d shoot first and ask questions later. All he was doing was trying to talk sense to you, it seemed to me.”

“You don’t know what his brother’s done” the meaty hunter snarls.

The bartender laughs. “You don’t know what my brother’s done. I’d still take out anyone who tried to hurt him.” He tilts his head toward the door. “I think it’s time for you to leave. Uh-uh,” he adds as the hunter takes a step forward to retrieve his gun. “Gonna have to leave this here.”

“Got more where that came from.” Sam returns the man’s glare calmly. “And we’ll do what we set out to and deal with you when the time comes too, Winchester.”

Sam settles back onto his stool as the waiter deposits his sandwich on the bar. There’s a fresh shot in front of him and he raises it in their direction as they back away. “Rest in peace, then,” he says. “Because you’re dead either way.”


End file.
